


Masquerade

by rere_senpai



Series: Karakuri Perriot [4]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Different Names, Gen, Hospital, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, In Game, Kokichi is a sad boi, Light Angst, Masks, Post Game, Recovery, Self Harm, Sort Of, give him a hug, pre game, virtual reality au, vr au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-25 01:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rere_senpai/pseuds/rere_senpai
Summary: His time dancing the masquerade was over, and he was unable to unmask the one behind it all. He wanted to see just how rotten one could be on the inside, but he’ll just have to settle for the mirror.Alternatively, Kokichi's quest to unmask the mastermind (literally and figuratively).





	1. Virtual

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER KOKICHI FANFIC???? DAMMIT RERE YOU NEED TO S T O P

Masquerades were a fun party where everyone who partook in it had donned a mask, sealing their identities behind an intricate design that disguised themselves in anonymity. From what he can tell from the get go, this Killing Game was one hell of a masquerade.

The truths masqueraded within the lies, and vice versa. He enjoys unmasking the lies and truths, and laughs as he rips the voice of reasoning from the culprits, relishing in the absolute _ugliness_ that lay behind the worn mask that has been so mercilessly ripped off.

He even snatches Himiko’s mask off out of the mercy of his heart. Her inner ugliness just seeped out of her seal that he couldn’t bear to watch her awful performance anymore. Yet, as he does this mercy, others fall to their knees and rip off their own deceitful masks to cry along with her.

He looks away, bored. It seems that he’s the only one able to keep his mask intact. Him and the mastermind that is.

He seeks out the mastermind, hoping to have one last dance with them before he marches to his own death. He crosses out names in his books and narrows down the act to the best of the best.

_Maki Harukawa- the Ultimate Assassin, formerly known to be the Ultimate Caregiver._

Her stoic personality really gave her lie away, however, for all he knew it could have been another cover up to her real Ultimate talent- the Ultimate Mastermind.

But he snorts and quickly scribbles her name out. She was too brash and violent to be the mastermind. No mastermind would be stupid enough to choke him in front of everybody.

But then again, it could be an act. After all, she didn't kill him did she?

Instead, he traces a question mark next to her name.

_Tsumugi Shirogane- the Ultimate Cosplayer._

Her aloof act of plainness was the perfect cover up for a mastermind, however she seemed to weak and meek to be so. Despite this, he takes her talent into account- cosplay. To be able to cosplay a character, one must get in character; and therefore adjust their personality as her own.

For all he knew, she could’ve have been putting up the best act of all, cosplaying as a simple character that was definite to not draw the eyes of the protagonists and those against him. Which is why, of course, she’s on this list.

_Kiibo- the Ultimate Robot._

Though his mask is as clear as glass, Kokichi knows that his programming can easily be tampered with. So instead of circling him to be the mastermind, he doodles an exclamation mark inside of a triangle, a caution sign.

Unfortunately he’s unable to make it to his waltz with the mastermind. Perhaps it’s for the best, at least this way he can give them a parting gift- from a liar to another.

He entrusts his mask in Kaito’s bloody hands, and he smiles weakly, hoping that it will spare Kaito the tragic discovery of how awful he truly is unmasked.

_(For some reason, Kaito looked at him deeply with regret. It’s a great mask.)_

`  
`

`Ouma Kokichi is now awake.`

``  


He sits up and frowns.

He’s back in this boring world, in this boring town with boring people.

The hospital puts up their kindest and more patient masks, but that’s not what he wants. Those masks are boring.

He sighs.

His time dancing the masquerade was over, and he was unable to unmask the one behind it all. He wanted to see just how rotten one could be on the inside, but he’ll just have to settle for the mirror.

The doctors suggest that he join group therapy, and soon those suggestions quickly morph into requests. And who was he to turn down a request?

So, bundled up in a wheelchair with several tubes leading out and sustaining him with the liquid version of the only things supporting him, he is wheeled into the room where the other 15 participants are gathered.

To his pleasant surprise, Kiibo is not a robot, and he no longer feels the need to keep an eye on the albino boy.

It seems that his presence has made everyone squirm in discomfort, but that’s okay because that’s what he always wants right?

Not really, but he’ll rather choke than have everyone spread love and happiness through their bitter asses.

So he smiles and listens on as the therapist proceeds to lead the conversation in the right course. They talk and chat away as though he was never there to begin with, and despite the lack of receiving attention, he’s much more content in watching from the background than being in the foreground.

That’s what he thinks after the therapist directs a question to Ouma, which he unsurprisingly missed.

That’s fine because he wasn’t planning on participating anyways. But the therapist wasn’t having it.

And neither was he, so he grabbed a fistful of tubes and ripped it out without breaking his unnervingly sweet smile. Or, at least he hoped he didn’t, it was quite painful, especially with how weak his grip was.

Alarmed by his sudden action, the people around him stood up in panic and yelled incoherence at him. He didn’t care, because this was one big party.

But where were the masks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> `888 words`


	2. Reality

He’s sent back to his room and surprise surprise, the doctor’s no longer insistent on his participation, and instead focuses on his physical recovery.

He manages to move his toes in the first week following the event, however the progress slows down from there, and it takes him way too many months for him to stand up properly without support.

At this point, the doctor deems him worthy of release and nurses rush him out of the hospital, probably sick of having to care for his awful ass. Or maybe, probably more likely, he overstayed his welcome and Team Danganronpa had to spare some more expenses on his recovery.

Either way, he was surprised to be greeted by his family again. After all his misdeeds committed in the Killing Game, he was sure that he’d be at least disowned.

Instead they welcome him with open arms and usher him inside warmly, however that facade melts as they question his intentions of joining the Killing Game. The questions quickly turn into outright assault and he just smiles through it all.

The party really is over huh?

They finish berating him, though his brother spares him one last sneer before he heads to his room.

To his pleasant surprise, his room was kept in the same state as he had left it. His stationary was arranged accordingly atop his desk and his uniform was hooked onto the handle of his closet, waiting an eternity for him to wear it again.

He easily locates his scissors and snatches a handful of tissues before arranging it in an ordered fashion that covered his desk in protection. He sits down on his desk and pulls out his phone, sliding it to the side to access the camera and leans it onto the stationary cup.

He grabs a fistful of his hair and snips.

After a while his hair is reduced to a simple bowl cut. His spiked ends were no longer his and neither were his frosted tips.

The masquerade was truly over. He was no longer Kokichi Ouma.

He was now Akihito Shimizu again. Or well, that’s what he insists on.

Legally, he’s named _Chihiro_ Shimizu, however after his discovery of Danganronpa, he finds himself dissatisfied at being forced to masquerade as the weak boy.

Ironically enough, he _is_ the school’s weakest boy. Or well, he hopes he _was_. He hopes that the people who played rough with him had found another target during his absence. He decides to not push his luck and instead prepares for a shower.

He’ll have to readjust back into this dance.

Life as Akihito is boring because the masks that dance around him are senselessly bland. There’s no threat of life or death that can push the masks of his peers into a pressurised crack, and there’s no way for him to poke and prod at the cracks of other people’s masks without damaging his own.

Whatever, he’ll just have to live with it.

He enters school slowly and he is gradually flocked by hesitant fans. His haircut has done him some good it seemed, and he’ll forever cherish the ability to outwardly lie about his identity as Kokichi Ouma.

He slips his shoes off with difficulty and ascends the stairs to his classroom with the provided shoes from his dusty locker. He waddles his way down the corridor and enters the classroom, relieved to have stuck to his routine of arriving early.

He sits down at his desk and is delighted with the disappearance of depreciative words that had jabbed at his conscience once upon a time ago. He slips his bag on the hook and takes his books out, glossing over the class material he had caught up on last night after his shower.

He acts nonchalant as whispers travel throughout his class. He doesn’t care- in fact, he’s happy to have made such an impact as Kokichi Ouma. Perhaps he should debut once again as the supreme leader.

That’s a thought.

The bell rings and the class rep instructs the class to stand up and greet the teacher before sitting back down. He stares boredly at his picked nails, and contemplates on whether he should paint them or not.

It seemed that he must have missed something important because soon he can hear the creak of the door slides open and the cautionary step of a new student patter in.

He looks up, curious at the distraction, only to find himself mildly annoyed at the familiar face that has popped up in his presence.

“My name is Akiyama Hideaki.” He says no more.

Akihito shifts his gaze to the kanji scrawled behind the boy and groans inwardly. At least _Shuichi_ had a normal name.

He tunes out the rest of the dialogue shared between the teacher and the class, but he takes a mental note of Shuichi’s seating arrangement.

Ah, how rude of him.

He takes note of _Hideaki’s_ seat, and sighs in relief when he notices that they are separated by a seat.

_Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer._

He didn’t know what to regard Shuichi as, so for his sake, he’ll give Hideaki a clean slate to work from.

Class stretches for far too long, and he finds himself bored out of his mind on many occasions, occupying himself with doodling too many times, but he’s saved as the bell rings and he hops out of his seat.

He glides to the rooftop and breathes the fresh air that lingers up high. A smile is settled on his face before it is completely wiped off when he stares down the side of the building.

He turns his head sharply to his side, expecting a hammer to blow a hole into his head, only to find a gust of wind playing with his hair.

Maybe _he_ shouldn’t be here. Maybe he should leave.

Leave his life as Kokichi behind and revert back to boring old Akihito. But he doesn’t want to.

So he does the most reasonable thing he can think of.

Run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> `1012 words`
> 
> Pray for me pls, I have a math competition tomorrow and two science reports due and i've only started one
> 
> Also, I made it so pregames have different names than ingames, so postgames would basically have two identities oops


End file.
